


Sanctuary

by ilcuoreardendo



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Requested fic, Vampire Hunter Charley, Vampire Hunters, vampire mythos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charley, on the run from a survivor of the last nest he cleaned out, meets a possible ally.</p><p>
  <i>The vampire froze, his right foot partially off the ground, his knee bent, his mouth and the tip of his nose flattened as though he’d pressed his face against a window pane.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Apologies,” said the voice from the back of the store. It belonged to a young man, stretched tall and thin, with long dark hair. “Your kind isn’t welcome in The Dragon’s Court.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a long time ago; a friend on Tumblr requested Charley interacting with an original character. ([Original post](http://ilcuoreardendo-fic.tumblr.com/post/60363274710/a-while-back-lizziethewanderer582-requested).) Technically, she got a two-fer, an original vampire and Ari.
> 
> Ari, and his shop, are a creation of mine from way back (like 15 years back). I've got a few short pieces that feature him in the works. 
> 
> Since I like to keep Charley on his toes by having him running around the country (especially places I've lived or visited), and Ari resides in Phoenix, this seemed the perfect opportunity for the two to meet. And for me to see what would happen when Ari was faced with a vampire....

* * *

Sanctuary

* * *

                                                                  

 

Charley had been in Phoenix for three days when he opened his hotel room door and found the vampire waiting for him. He had a moment to dip his right hand into his pocket before he became intimately familiar with the flocked wallpaper of his room, his arms twisted up behind his back.

The vampire still smelled of smoke and the accelerant Charley had used to torch the nest; what Charley could see of his face was pockmarked with burns.

“Been tracking you since Santa Fe, little boy.” The words came out sibilant and strange, as if the vampire couldn’t wrap his lips properly around them. “Now, if you don’t mind….” Lips pressed against Charley’s hair, the back of his neck. “Let’s skip with the prelude and get straight to the main event.”

“Let’s,” Charley hissed.

The vampire tensed to strike.

Inside his pocket, Charley twisted his fingers around the syringe he kept there, flicked the cap off with his thumb, and plunged the needle into the vampire’s belly.

A garbled choked sound left the vampire’s mouth as the holy water spread through him. His hands loosened, grabbed at the burning in his belly and Charley braced against the wall, shoved backward. The vampire stumbled, fell to his knees. Charley shot through the door. The holy water would buy him precious minutes at best.

Charley’s feet slapped against the pavement. It had rained earlier in the evening, a brief respite from the summer heat, but now the air hung heavy and damp. Every breath he took weighed him down. Ignoring the stitch in his side, he turned a corner, found himself on the edge of Phoenix’s art district. The street was abandoned, the artists and aficionados having long ago headed for bars and beds in other parts of town.

But one shop front was still faintly lit. The metal plaque above the door read _The Dragon’s Court;_ the window displays were full of strange statuary, rows of ritualistic looking blades, vaguely familiar charms engraved in metal, etched on stone. And something in Charley’s belly warmed, urged him forward.

The door swung open with a tinkling of chimes.

Charley stumbled into the shadows, into cool air and the ephemeral odor of incense. Somewhere, water trickled. And deep in the belly of the store, hidden by cluttered shelves, a faintly accented voice swore and called out. “Sorry. We’re closed.”

“Please,” Charley sucked in cool air, coughed. “I need—”

“To come out, little boy, before someone else gets hurt.” The vampire sprawled in the doorway, one foot holding the door open. His left hand cradled his belly and his right stroked the door jamb, drew ragged scores in the wood with his nails. “A'course, it’s all the same to me. Been a while since I had Asian cuisine.”

He smiled, stepped forward.

And stopped.

No, not stopped. Charley blinked, resisted the urge to rub his eyes.

The vampire froze, his right foot partially off the ground, his knee bent, his mouth and the tip of his nose flattened as though he’d pressed his face against a window pane.

“Apologies,” said the voice from the back of the store. It belonged to a young man, stretched tall and thin, with long dark hair. “Your kind isn’t welcome in _The Dragon’s Court_.” And he pointed.

Charley, half expecting to find a sign reading “No Undead Allowed,” followed the finger and saw a fountain just beyond the edge of the cash register. It was the flat, waterfall type he’d seen on the walls of many Asian Fusion restaurants. But this one sat on the ground and instead of pouring water into a basin of stones the water spilled into a reservoir in the floor.

Clear panels made up the floor beneath the fountain, crossed the front of the room—passing before the open door—and disappeared into the darkness on the other side of the shop. Charley had once seen aquariums set into the floor of a night club. This was similar, only without the fish. The water, turned ghostly blue by the LED lights, flowed steadily beneath the clear floor, creating a glass covered, indoor creek.

Running water.

The myth was true.

Peter owed him a hundred bucks.

The vampire snarled, pulled free of the invisible barrier. He backed away, eyed the second floor windows. 

“I wouldn’t,” the man said. “If the water seal doesn’t hold for the second floor—and, I assure you, it will—then the charms carved on the windowsills should, ah, "crispy-critter” you.“

“This isn’t over.” The vampire turned toward Charley again, eyes wild, dark. “I’ve got your scent.” And with a sharp smile that promised retribution, the vampire turned, disappeared into the dark.

“Thank you,” Charley said.

The man shrugged. “For setting up an occult shop with a moat of running water in the same town in which you decided to play cat and mouse with a vampire? You’re welcome.” He went to the door, closed and locked it. “Dare I ask what led to this chase?”

“It’s a long story….”

“Well,” the man said, “You’re lucky. I collect long stories. And I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere until sunrise.” He turned to Charley, raised an eyebrow. “Unless falling into my store and teasing that vampire was some sort of ploy to increase the anticipation of eventually getting your throat ripped out. If that’s the case, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Ummmm.” Charley blinked. “Not even close.” He held out his hand. “Charley.”

“Ari.” There was a half laugh in the man’s voice, but he shook Charley’s hand. “Come upstairs. Have tea. Tell me your story.”

 

 


End file.
